


(but you've become) a part of me

by juliusschmidt



Series: harry, you little shit [14]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Bonding, Break Up, Fights, M/M, Pining, Revelations, sad sad sad sad louis, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-02 13:50:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4062322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliusschmidt/pseuds/juliusschmidt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the help of his friends, Harry struggles to figure out what's happened between him and Louis during his last heat and what he wants to to do about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! I'm really, seriously back- posting regularly through to the end. 
> 
> Chapter two will be up in a week! I'll add a bunch tags when it goes up and change the rating, cause it's slightly smuttier. 
> 
> SO much love to my amazing beta Melanie! She had some fantastic insights about this very important part. :) 
> 
> Title from [this tune](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RQRIOKvR2WM). :)

 

Harry wakes up to very loud techno music and the smell of weed. The living room is dark and Harry distinctly remembers harsh sunlight streaming through his window on the cab ride over. 

“Zayn,” he calls.

He misjudges and pitches his voice a little too loud and the sound rings in his ears. His head hurts and he misses Louis.

Zayn wanders into the room. His fingers are covered in permanent marker and his hair is sticking up in the back, but he looks beautiful. Smells good, too. Not right, not like Louis, but good all the same.

“Feel better?” Zayn asks. “You were wiped out when you got here and still weirdly horny. You’re lucky I have such good self control.”

Harry remembers coming over, his heat not quite faded, and he remembers asking Zayn to help him, but he hadn’t meant to sound, like, _sexual,_ about it.

He shifts on the couch, sitting up. His arse itches and his thighs are sticking together, on top which, he’s starving.

None of this matters, though. “Zayn,” he says, plaintively. “I think we did it. I think we bonded, Louis and I.”

Zayn sits down beside him. “Were you _trying_ to bond?”

Harry shakes his head.

“Then you didn’t _actually_ bond. Your hormones just think you have,” Zayn assures him.

Harry rests his head on Zayn’s shoulder. “What’s the difference, though?”

Zayn reaches up and tousles Harry’s hair. “If you want, you can undo it without any repercussions. Like, move out and don’t have sex, stay away from each other as much as possible. It’ll go away. I mean, if that’s what you both want.”

Harry makes a noise in the back of his throat.  

Zayn makes it sound easy, simple, but when Harry thinks about actually breaking things off with Louis, he aches and there’s nothing easy or simple about it.

“Bonding is complicated,” Harry tells him, earnestly.

“You’re talking to the wrong guy,” Zayn replies, frowning. “You’re the only omega in my life.”

Harry tries to smile, but fails.

“Oh, babe, it’ll work out. Niall’ll go get your stuff. We’ll fix it.”

Harry nods, but he doesn’t really believe him.

~

Harry’s scrolling through his twitter feed on his laptop when his mobile buzzes on the couch beside him. He sees that it’s a text from Zayn and decides to wait a moment before opening it.

The gameshow host lighting up Zayn’s TV expresses delight at a female contestant’s knowledge of sports trivia.

Zayn hasn’t been home much in the last twenty-four hours; he’s taking care of Louis because, apparently, Louis needs taking care of. Apparently, he needs more taking care of than Harry.

Off and on, Zayn’ll text Harry updates and Harry assumes that’s what this text is: a Louis update. He’s not sure he wants to read it.

According to Zayn, Louis’ far worse off than Harry in terms of eating and showering and acting like a human being. And each update is a little more short and little more sharp than the last, as though Zayn’s blaming Harry for the fact that “ _he’s only eaten fucking cereal for the last three days. fucking hell harry._ ” and “ _he reeks. of you. and not in a good way._ ”

Harry’s not sure how to feel about it. Like, he feels sad that Louis is sad, but he also feels a bit relieved that Louis can’t just move on as if Harry’s retreat mid-heat had meant nothing to him. It’s a relief that’s tainted with guilt though.

Because, really, they both need to move on. Neither of them should be dwelling on this, not if they want the band to survive.

Harry reaches for his phone and opens the text. It’s a picture of Louis, sleeping, which is good. But he’s on the floor beside their couch, wrapped up in a blue and white blanket Harry’s gran had crocheted for him as a young child. He looks a bit pale and underfed, but maybe it’s just the light. It’s captioned, ‘ _you broke him_.’

Harry thinks about replying to Zayn’s text and telling him to fuck off, telling him that he doesn’t care about Louis’ poor health or heartache. But that would be a lie.

Harry hasn’t slept properly since first arriving at Zayn’s and most of his naps have been filled with visions of another more bitter and hateful version of Louis. Nap-mare Louis is always shouting at Harry, telling him how he’s a terrible friend and an even more terrible omega. So Harry’s glad for Zayn’s updates because they help convince him that this angry Louis is only a figment of his imagination.

Harry closes Zayn’s text and opens up a fresh one, to Louis. He’s done this about a thousand times over the course of the last thirty-six hours or so, since the fight. He knows he shouldn’t. It’s not like he has something in particular that he wants to say to Louis.

It’s just.

His scent covers all of Harry’s belongings. All of Harry’s clothes reek of Louis, as does the bag he packed them in.  Even, Harry swears, his toothbrush carries a hint of Louis.

Worse, Harry notices Louis’ scent on the other boys’ stuff. The throw pillow on Zayn’s couch smells like Louis, as does Liam’s sweatshirt and Niall’s guitar strap. He’s never noticed this before, probably too preoccupied with Louis’ scent on himself and on Louis to smell it elsewhere.

But he notices it now and, _fuck_ , every time he catches so much as a whiff of it, he thinks of Louis. He thinks of Louis in the bathroom mirror trying to tuck away that particularly fussy strand of hair and Louis sitting across from him whining about having to pick all the tomatoes out of his salad at the dinner table. He thinks about Louis kicking his ankle as they ride beside each other to work and about Louis pulling him onto his lap and wrapping his arms tight around him as they pretend to watch TV. 

And it’s not just Louis’ smell that brings back memories. It’s everything. Literally every little thing reminds him of Louis- _everything_. He realizes there’s nothing about his life that he hadn’t allowed to intertwine with Louis. That’d been supremely stupid of him.

 _How-_ he types and deletes.

 _I mis-_ he types and deletes.

 _Can I-_ he closes out of the message.

He hasn’t sent Louis any of the messages he’s drafted, even though most of the ones he actually types out all the way are about helping him move out and more helpful than the heart-achey ones he really wants to send.

He looks back up at the TV and tries to figure out what’s happening in the game. The female contestant seems to have won something big because her friends and family are moving to the stage and throwing their arms around her.

Harry wraps his own arms tightly around himself.

Zayn had said that he and Louis weren’t bonded, not really, and he might be right, he usually is, but Harry’s not sure. And the longer he’s away from Louis the less sure he becomes that he wants Zayn to be right.

Maybe being bonded to Louis wouldn’t be the worst thing.  

~

As kind as he is to offer it up, Zayn’s couch isn’t the haven Harry needs, not long term. Harry wakes up the second morning with an aching heart and arse and back.

Even though his heat has fully subsided and he knows he should head into the studio with Zayn when he leaves, the lingering pain allows him an excuse to put off seeing Louis another day.

And anyway, he needs time and space. He needs a plan. While Zayn’s gone he thinks things through.

The scents of Niall and Zayn, while familiar, are all wrong, not quite comfortable enough for him to sleep well on any of their couches. Harry remembers what Nick had said about Liam, that his smell isn’t really a scent. Harry knows Nick’s right. Harry can’t feel it pulling close like the others. He certainly won’t feel it like Zayn’s, which hovers over Harry’s shoulder, oddly judgmental, like it doesn’t approve of Harry being separate from his kind of almost mate.

Liam also has a guestroom so, with a hopeful intake of breath, he texts Liam to ask if it’s free for a couple weeks, at least until Harry can find his own place. 

Within minutes, Liam has texted back his agreement. Harry thinks things are beginning to look up.

He packs his bag and calls a car to drop him at Liam’s. While he waits for Liam and Niall to finish work, he raids Liam’s cabinets and finds just enough ingredients to make them all breakfast for dinner.

They’re quiet during the meal. Harry doesn’t like the scrape of fork against plate and the wet chewing noises the other boys make, but he can’t bring himself to fill the silence. He wants to know about their day at the studio, about Louis, but he wishes they’d offer the information freely. His pride’s not ready to allow him to ask.

They insist on doing the clean-up and Harry sits in the hallway and listens as they begin to chat happily about the difficulties of recording the most recent track.

During a lull in the conversation he finds the courage to pop back into the room. Liam looks at him from the sink, hands covered in suds. Niall’s leaning up on the counter beside him, an open back of crisps in his hand. The silence between them thickens.

Harry breaks it. “So, like, maybe you guys can help me get my stuff from the apartment?”

“No way,” Niall replies.

Harry’d been nervous to ask, fiddling with the hem of shirt, but at Niall’s immediate and certain refusal, he looks up.

“This is stupid.” Niall hoists himself up onto Liam’s kitchen counter. At some point, he’s gone and donned his guitar and a disbelieving frown. “You don’t really want to move out.”

At first, Harry thinks Niall’s being lazy and petulant. The five of them had planned a video game tournament for that evening and Niall’d been all but a shoe-in to win after all the practice he’d been putting in. It’s obviously not happening now that Harry refuses to be in the same room with Louis. If he were Niall, he’d be a little resentful.

Also, lifting things is not Niall’s idea of a fun evening. He’s turned down being Harry’s late night gym buddy many times.

“I know it’s not, like, a fun evening, or whatever. But I do want to move and I could use help. Niall, you can distract Louis, if you’d like.”

Niall strums a minor chord and then says, “I seriously don’t get it. You love Louis. He loves you. He’d do literally anything for you. What the hell else are you looking for in a mate?”

Harry doesn’t know how to answer and the kitchen is quiet. Again.

Harry looks at Liam, pushing out his lower lip and hoping he might speak up. Like, Liam’s different too, and he should understand. But Liam’s frowning at the floor, avoiding Harry’s pout and pointedly not coming to Harry’s defense.

Niall bangs his heels against cabinet below the counter, recapturing Harry’s attention.

The noise irritates Harry and he sort of wants to punch Niall, but that would piss him off and probably the other boys too, and it would not answer Niall’s question. Which, Harry has to admit, is a good one.

The moment drags on and thenLiam says, very quietly, “It’s different, not being an alpha. It makes things like this harder.”

Harry turns to look at him. They both do. Liam bites his lip and looks down again, quickly. “I mean, I’d imagine. Like, you can’t just take for granted that everything’s going to work out... like, um, we do… as alphas.”

Almost before he can finish Niall’s speaking again, cutting him off. “I don’t really think I take that for granted. All sorts of things can go wrong.” He plucks out a couple of twangy notes. “Life’s not perfect as an alpha, either.”

Liam looks between the two of them, still clearly very uncomfortable, and shrugs. Affection for him wells up in Harry. He steps forward and wraps Liam’s big body in a tight hug.

Niall doesn’t understand, but Liam does. Kind of. And that’s nice.

He steps back out from the warmth of Liam’s arms and fiddles with bracelets on his wrist. “I’m not ready to bond,” he says for what is probably the hundredth time, hoping to take the pressure, the attention, off Liam. “I would think you guys could understand that.”

Liam shifts from foot to foot. Someone’s phone buzzes on the counter. Niall’s, maybe, because he glances down at it and his frown deepens.

“Look,” Niall’s tone is placating. “Maybe you should just wait it out through your next heat. Before you move _all_ your stuff out. See if all this drama is really necessary. I think Louis would probably be cool, if you, like wanted to move back in, forget this ever happened.”

Harry doesn’t know what waiting will accomplish, but the suggestion seems to relax Liam as well and he supposes delaying the inevitable can’t actually hurt either. And, as far as he can tell, the separation _is_ inevitable. He and Louis couldn’t possibly just go back to how things were before.

The reality will be different now, between him and Louis, no matter what he chooses to do.

~

In the end, Liam helps him fetch everything he needs- his pillow and a couple baskets of clothes (though more than a few things turn out to be Louis’) and his suppressants.

As he helps Harry put his own (still Louis scented) sheets on his guest bed, Liam takes a deep breath and says, “I guess I get why you’re scared.”

Harry tucks in a corner and tries to ignore the unpleasant sensation in his stomach as he waits for the ‘but’ he knows is coming.

Liam pulls the duvet up over the sheet.  “But I don’t get what’s wrong with Louis? And bonding? It really seems like that might _help_.”

Harry sits down on the bed with his back to Liam. “You can’t understand,” he says. “You’re not an omega.”

He hears Liam shift and expects him to sit down, but he doesn’t. Finally, Liam says, “No, I’m not.”

Harry steels himself to say the next bit. It’s sort of mean, and Harry hates to be mean, but it’s also true and he thinks it needs to be said. “You’re never going to bond Liam. You can’t. So you can’t possibly understand-.”

Liam cuts him off. “Harry, bonding is good for you, for everyone. It calms you down. And keeps you happy. There’s always someone who really _gets_ you and can help you work through stuff and like, you know, just be there.”

“Yeah,” Harry says. “If you’re an alpha.”

“Wait,” Liam walks around the bed, now, so he can see Harry. He’s looking him in the eye when he says, “Wait. Why did you say that I’d never bond?”

“I know, Liam. About you, I mean,” Harry says. He’s not 100% sure of what he knows and he’s hoping that by saying that he knows something Liam will be prompted to confess the rest.

He’s not disappointed.

Liam sits down beside Harry with a heavy sigh, burying his face in his hands. “Everyone knows, don’t they? It’s probably so obvious. I’m so fucking stupid.”

He kicks the carpet hard enough that Harry can almost feel the sting in his own toes. Liam barely winces.

“I don’t think so.” Harry pats his shoulder. “You _seem_ like an alpha.”

Liam’s brows furrow and he doesn’t look at Harry, even though Harry really, really wants him to. Harry thinks that Liam must be feeling very upset, but he can’t _sense_ it in his own body and he can’t help, not like he can with the other boys. It’s _frustrating,_ is what it is.

He wishes Liam were an alpha, too.

“After my first audition two years ago, these guys in suits wanted to meet with me. They told me that I had ‘a lot of potential.’ The problem- at least the guys in suits _said_ it was the problem- was that I hadn’t, like, finished out puberty. I hadn’t ‘come into my own’ as an alpha, yet. They didn’t think I’d make it very far, at least not as a solo act, anyway.”

Harry nods. He’s not surprised to hear that the decision to only let alphas through is purposeful. He wonders, briefly, by what miracle he’d made it.

Liam’s rubbing his hands atop his thighs in open agitation, but Harry tries to watch his face closely as he continues to speak. “So I finished up school and I waited for my alpha-ness to fully settle, for a knot, for a scent, anything. And it never came.”

Liam meets Harry’s eyes then and Harry can see heartache written plainly in them. Harry has his own to match.

“I really thought it would come. I really, really thought...,” Liam continues. “I mean, my dad’s an alpha and my grandpa, too. Almost all the men in my family. And I was always big, you know…”

Harry frowns and then, because he wants Liam to know that he understands, he confides, “Yeah, no one in my family is an alpha. I’d never even met any omegas, but I still thought for sure that I’d be an alpha.”

Liam sighs again and then folds and unfolds his hands. “I’ve always wanted to bond. That’s the worst part. Like, I mean, the other stuff’s not great. I hate keeping the secret and I hate not being, like, the best, or whatever. But I’ve sort of expected, since I was really little, that I’d marry a pretty omega girl and we’d grow old together, like my grandparents did.”

Harry bites his lip. “You still could.”

It’s not totally unheard of for an omega to marry a beta. Pretty rare. Okay, _extremely_ rare, but not impossible.

Liam shakes his head. “I want the _bond_. It’s amazing. Watching my grandparents, the way they knew each other inside and out- how connected they always seemed. Harry, that’s like, _you could have that_ and no, actually, you know what, _you already have it_! And you’re throwing it away. That’s crazy.”

His voice is a little raw and Harry wants to pull him close and hug him, to press a kiss to his brow and run a hand through his hair and tell him everything is going to be okay.

Except that he’s saying things not just about himself, but also about Harry. And he thinks he understands, thinks that because he’s different, too, that he gets it.

“You don’t understand,” Harry replies, lying back onto the bed. “You’re always imagining what it would be like- the bond, I mean- from the alpha’s perspective, everyone is.”

After a moment, a bit recklessly, Harry decides to add, “Your grandma probably wasn’t as happy as you thought she was.”

Liam stands. “That’s not true. She was very happy. You don’t even know her. Like, how can you even say that? She loved my grandpa. She loved taking care of him.”

Harry sits up so he can look Liam in the eye. “How do you know, though? Did she tell you that? Or did you just assume?”

Liam’s brows furrow. He looks like he wants to cry. “Of course she liked it, she was an omega. Omega’s like to take care of their alphas, that’s what they’re made for. They all like it.”

Harry lifts his chin. “Well, I’m an omega. And I don’t like it.”

He’s only partly lying.

~

Harry and Liam don’t talk as they get ready for rehearsal the next day, even though Harry makes Liam eggs on toast as a peace offering.

He knows he shouldn’t have said anything about Liam’s grandma. He doesn’t know anything about her. Maybe she did like taking care of his grandpa. Hell, she probably loved it.

Harry has to admit, if only to himself, that he _does_ get a satisfied thrill every time he does something that pleases Louis. And he never feels quite right if Louis’ upset.

He’s going to be upset today and Harry’s sick to his stomach anticipating it.

So, breakfast and the ride over to the rehearsal space is tense, but not nearly as tense as the rehearsal itself.

Harry imagines that Louis will front brightly, while being openly bitter to Harry. That’s just who he is. So Harry expects Louis to talk a lot and loudly and smile through gritted teeth. And he also expects him to passive aggressively sass him by making rude comments about Harry’s appearance and performance to the other boys. He’s worried that Louis might even pull him aside and confront him- shout at him or demand answers.

Louis doesn’t beat around the bush, not when he’s angry.

So Harry’s not exactly surprised that Louis doesn’t say anything to him before they begin, but he is a little taken aback by the fact that Louis doesn’t actually say much of anything to _anyone._

Harry surreptitiously takes in the dark circles below his eyes and the sag to his shoulders. He doesn’t seem angry or bitter; he seems miserable.  

And doesn’t seem to want to blame Harry or to fix it. He seems content to wallow in it.

The feeling is catching and within moments, Harry is sad, too. Sad for himself and sad for Louis. The sick feeling in Harry’s stomach intensifies to an ache.   

The other boys aren’t immune to Louis’ moodiness, either. Their misery shows up in the music, frequent mistakes, voices breaking, snipping between runs. It’s Niall who calls for a five minute break, but he sort of has to. Liam’s just knocked over his water and it had puddled around Zayn’s brand new iPhone. After shouting, “Five minutes, guys,” Niall jumps to run to find a towel to clean it up.

As soon as he’s out of the room, Harry wanders over to Louis. The moment their scents mix, the moment they’re as close as they should be, as something deep inside Harry’ _feels_ they need to be, a little flutter of hope blossoms in Harry’s belly. It quiets again immediately as he watches Louis hunch in on himself. He doesn’t look up at Harry.

Still, Harry finds the wherewithal to say, “Louis, we should talk.”

Louis fiddles with his mic stand. After a moment, he answers, “I thought being around me would only make it worse. That’s what Zayn said you said.”

Harry almost reaches out to touch him, to turn his face so that he’s facing Harry even though he knows that Louis is right and that the wall of pain Louis seems to have erected between them is for the better. It’s just, well, there isn’t _actually_ a wall between them. Harry can still smell him, see him, _feel_ him and his bitter tone is biting into Harry’s resolve. He sort of wants to make things better. He wants to take the last time between them back.

Louis finally, _finally_ , looks up at him. He’s frowning and biting his lip, his fringe falling into his eyes. When Harry still doesn’t reply, he smiles an ugly little smirk and brushes back his hair with his thumb.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. You don’t really want things to be different. Except that you don’t want them to be so hard. Well, you know what, they’re hard.”

Though spoken softly, his words may as well be delivered with a smack, as they send Harry’ reeling. After a moment, he takes in a shaky break and chews his lip.

He realizes that he still hasn’t spoken a word. Louis looks away, shaking his head.

Zayn wanders over, slowly raising an eyebrow at Harry and frowning. Then, he throws an arm around Louis and it’s clear whose side he’s taken. Harry’s mouth opens to say as much, but before he can, Zayn murmurs to Louis, “Bro, the place is cleaned up, if you want to bring your stuff over.”

“What?” Harry asks before he can stop himself.

Louis extricates himself from Zayn’s embrace with a grimace and nods toward the door, with a soft, forced, “Loo.”

Harry’s watching him make his way to the door, when Zayn says, “I thought you were going to try to stay away from him, at least until your hormones settled.”

Harry deflates. He’d found it easier to stand tall in front of Louis sadness than Zayn’s judgement. He reaches out and runs his hand along the smooth, rubbery casing of the mic cord hanging off Louis’ stand and sighs. “I thought it might be easier if we talked things through, you know, so that we were on the same page with what’s happening.”

Zayn shoves his hands in his pockets, his shoulders open in what seems like a sort of shrug. “I mean, he knows what you want and he’s agreed to it. What more is there to talk about?”

Harry bites his lip. He wants to say, _everything_. Because there’s all kinds of things he want to talk to Louis about. _The two of them_ haven’t talked about whatever’s happening between them at all, even if Zayn has played the go-between rather well. And Harry’s used to talking about his day with Louis and about what’s happening in his family. He’s used to strategizing about the band and keeping up with their favorite television shows. There are _tons_ of things he wants to talk to Louis about.

He doesn’t say that though, because he knows it’s moot. He grips the mic cord tighter and looks at Zayn. “I just wanted to make things easier. The tension is fucking everything up, like for the whole band.”

It’s a feeble explanation, even if it is mostly honest. Talking won’t change anything and they all know it. Zayn wraps his fingers around Harry’s wrist and pulls him back to the other side of the room. “The only thing that can fix this is time, time and separation.”

It’s the truth and Harry aches with it.

~

“Well, you smell like shit.”

Nick’s taken to being blunt with him. Harry can’t decide whether he likes it or not. Louis’ blunt too, but it’s different; Louis’ comments never have the same edge.

“Anything I can do?” Nick asks and Harry wonders if he might be imagining Nick’s underlying bitterness. But the thing is.

The thing is Nick thinks Harry should tell people. About the fact that he’s an omega.

Like, he’s never _said_ as much, not out loud, or, at least, not in as many words.

Sometimes he moans on about how difficult it must be for Harry to _be_ an omega among alphas and the whiny melodrama he injects into the commentary is something Harry doesn’t usually allow himself to feel. So he likes hearing Nick name it. It usually makes him laugh with relief.

But then Nick also moans about how difficult holding the secret must be. He talks about how difficult hiding had been on him and how relieved he’d been to finally _tell people_. He talks about how even though some days he wishes he could still pass for a beta, he knows he’s impacted a lot of people, a lot of omegas, for the better.  He proudly admits that he’s done the right thing.

So though he never says it outright, Harry sort of feels like Nick must think _he’s_ doing the wrong thing.

Harry looks at Nick, taking in his long legs stretched out before him and his socked feet resting on his coffee table.

“I moved out of the place with Louis,” Harry tells him.

Nick nods. “I can tell. Why? You swore to me he wasn’t hurting you, that you liked the sex.”

Harry crosses his arms. He’s not sure how to tell Nick; he hasn’t been sure how to explain it to anyone, really. “I don’t want to bond with him.”

Nick laughs. “You’re a terrible liar. Try again.”

Harry opens his mouth unsure how to respond. He’s not lying, or, at least, he doesn’t mean to be. He thinks that’s the truth. But, now that Nick says so, it does feel like a bit of a lie.

Sort of. Maybe a half truth. He tries again. “Well, I want to be famous and successful and I don’t want to be stuck at home all the time. I want to keep living my life.”

Nick takes a sip of wine. “Okay. What does that have to do with being bonded to Louis?”

Harry frowns. It has everything to do with it. He knows it does. But, like, he’s not sure how, now that he’s pressed.

“Omegas stay home and take care of their mates, right? Like that’s what bonded omegas _do_?”

Nick shrugs. “But why? Do we have to?”

Harry blinks. He’d never really wondered that before.

“I mean…” He begins, but he doesn’t finish because he doesn’t know how to.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Nick assures him. “I’ve tried the whole settling down and bonding thing and it isn’t for me.”

Harry twists toward him, red wine sloshing over the side of his glass. “You have?”

Nick makes a sour face. “I’m just, I wasn’t meant to be someone’s mate. But we were talking about you.”

Harry nods. “I wasn’t, either. I want to _do_ things!”

Nick waggles his eyebrows. “You _are_ doing things. Why does that have to change? Has Louis ever indicated he’d expect anything different?”

Harry crosses his arms. Harry knows Louis wants babies and a home and _romance._ He should have an omega who will give him that, someone who’s content to have their life revolve around Louis’ happiness.

“Well, he said he wants babies,” Harry tells Nick, thinking back to their last conversation.

Nick tilts his head and his expression softens. “Do you want babies?”

Harry sips his wine. He doesn’t like to think about this, about the future. Because he does kind of want babies, is the thing. _Eventually_. But he can’t see how they would fit into his life.

“I want to play music, to sing. I want One Direction to make it big.”

Nick nods. “But you want to have babies, too?”

Harry shrugs. “If I could. Later.”

Nick holds Harry’s gaze and Harry feels his head start to spin. He’s had too much wine for this conversation. “And bond?”

Harry shakes his head and turns away to look back at the muted TV.

“Bonding can be alright, you know,” Nick’s voice is oddly rough.

Harry shakes his head again because, “How would you know? You just said it wasn’t for you.”

Nick makes a noise in the back of his throat, almost a whine, and leans back against the cushions. “You should talk to Louis. Hear him out. See what he wants from you.”   

He lets out a soft hum because he feels like he has to respond. Talking to Louis about anything, especially bonding, sounds difficult. Smart, maybe. Mature, definitely. But really, really difficult.

Harry remembers earlier, at the studio, how closed off Louis’d been even before Zayn had stepped in. He has no idea how to even begin to work through the mess they’ve made.

He decides not to think about it anymore tonight and leans forward to top off his wineglass.

~

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last, some resolution! 
> 
> As always, thanks to my beta, Melanie. :)

They’re supposed to spend the next week recording in LA and while Harry’s dreading the plane ride and the hours spent in close quarters with Louis, he’s even more worried about the fact that he hasn’t told anyone higher up about his and Louis’ split.

They’re booked to share rooms and cars and meals and studio time.

A few fans lay in wait for them at the airport, and not the polite kind. No, these girls are the type to loudly shout questions about the size of the boy’s knots and about how much they’d love to be collared.

Any other day, Harry might be annoyed. But not today. Today, he’s relieved by the diversion. The five of them and their handlers are so caught up in trying to turn away the fans without causing a ruckus that they’re all able to momentarily ignore the shit between Harry and Louis.

Harry doesn’t forget it though and once they’re on the plane he steals Liam’s seat beside Niall without asking. This turns out to be a poor choice because Niall has deemed himself the peacekeeper and immediately sets into interrogating Harry.

He wants to know how Harry’s doing. _Really_. And why he doesn’t want to bond with Louis. And has he talked to Louis. And doesn’t he know how much Louis cares about him.

Harry wants to shout at him. Or shake him. They’re in fucking _public._

Instead he fights back tears and keeps his eyes trained out the tiny window and on the runway, eager for the safety talk to begin and Niall to shut the hell up.

Niall’s not so easily stymied though. He must realize that no small amount of Harry’s discomfort arises from the fact that they’re sitting on an airplane, filled with people, and Louis himself is only three feet away because he eventually stops talking.

He does not stop with the questioning though, instead pulling out his phone and sending Harry a series of angry texts. Harry feels the buzz of them in the front of his backpack where it rests against his feet. He does not answer, though. You’re not supposed to use your phone on the plane.

Determined not to deal with Niall, Harry leans his face against the cool glass of the window, pulls the scratchy flight blanket tightly around his shoulders, closes his eyes, and falls asleep.

The plane is quiet when he wakes up and he feels disoriented, unsure of the time or where he’s at. His stomach rumbles and beside him, mouth open, Niall snores in answer.

Harry looks around him, hoping to find the remains of a snack or a meal or something. His eye catches on a piece of paper that’s been tucked between his thigh and the armrest.

He imagines Niall angrily scribbling out his questions after Harry’d fallen asleep and chuckles to himself.

However, when he unfolds the paper, it’s not got Niall’s handwriting on it, but Louis’.  He can’t help but turn his head to find Louis, to check if he’s watching. He’s not. His head is down and Harry can see the top of a pen wiggling in his lap. He’s writing another letter, probably to his sisters. Harry’s seen pictures of the pink bedroom wall where the twins hang all the letters and photos he sends them.

Harry lets out a breath and looks down at his own note.

The top five lines are scribbled out and Harry thinks of all the texts he’s almost sent. He holds the paper up to the window hoping the sunlight might help reveal the things Louis has decided not to tell him.

It’s no use. Harry sighs and allows himself to read Louis’ actual message.

It’s brief and that in and of itself is painful.

_What do we do about the hotel room? Do you want to share with Liam?_

Harry closes his eyes and then opens them. He turns his head slightly and sees that now Louis _is_ watching him. As soon as their eyes meet, Louis’ head jerks back down.

Even from three seats and an aisle away, the anxious ache of Louis’ heart seeps into Harry and he suddenly can’t tell Louis’ pain from his own. To Harry’s surprise, even ugly as they are, it’s still a relief to experience Louis emotions, clear and nearby.

He doesn’t want to share with Liam.

He digs a marker out of his own bag and writes back.

 _No, let’s talk tonight_.

He folds the note into the shape of a paper airplane and sends it back to Louis. Except that it veers off course and hits an older woman in the cheek. She turns to glare at them from where she’s sitting two rows forward.

Before Harry has a chance to say a word, Louis is waving at her, murmuring an apology, and reaching for the paper airplane.

Her face softens into amusement as she hands it over, saying, “My son, an alpha like you, was always getting into this type of trouble. It was hard for him to sit so still on an airplane for so long.”

Harry looks down, folding his hands in his lap and trying not to squirm. It’s hard for _everyone_ to sit still in a plane for so long. That’s not some _alpha_ thing.

He hears Louis move back and then smells him, feels him, standing over Niall.

“Haz,” Louis whispers. It’s a loud whisper, though, and Niall makes an irritated noise and pulls his hat down over his face.

Harry looks up at Louis, waiting for him to ask whatever it is he wants to ask.

“Can we talk now?”

Harry looks pointedly around the plane, which is filled with people and mostly quiet. Obviously they cannot talk now.

Louis’ shoulders fall and he shakes his head. “I thought this would suit you better than a tiny room with one bed to share between us.”

Niall shifts and Harry wants to look at him, but Louis’ gaze is piercing. Harry shakes his head.  

“In the toilet, then?” he asks.

Harry chokes out a laugh as he imagines himself pushed up between Louis and the wall of the tiny room trying to work out his feelings in words that make sense with Louis’ scent filling all the empty air. Yeah, no.

“Louis, can we please just wait until we have privacy and space?” The woman who’d returned the paper airplane appears to be deeply engrossed in her reading, but she hasn’t turned a page in ages, so Harry suspects that she’s listening in.

“Are you going to switch rooms with one of the other boys, after?” His voice wavers as he asks, even though his gaze does not.

Harry isn’t sure if Louis wants him to say yes or no. He isn’t sure what he wants either, so he shrugs.

Louis ‘hmmms’ loudly and at the noise Niall tips back his hat, looks between them, and says, “Harry can have mine.”

“I don’t want yours,” Harry bites back immediately. Niall frowns at him and so does Louis. “I mean, maybe. But I think we should try to work this out.” He motions between Louis and himself.

“Great. Can you let me sleep _now,_ then?” Niall doesn’t wait for an answer before pulling his hat back over his face.

Louis eyes are dark and narrow. “You want to share, then? Have you changed your mind?” The questions are simple. They should be neutral, but Louis spits them out and the words fall between them twisted and ugly.

Harry can’t look at them, can’t look at Louis. He closes his eyes. He doesn’t know what he wants. “Let’s just- can we wait to talk? Please.”

Louis sighs deeply and Harry feels Louis’ anxiety shudder through his own chest.

“Okay,” he says, finally.

Harry can tell that he doesn’t mean it. Too bad, he thinks. Omega or not, like _hormonally_ Louis’ omega or not, Harry is still his own person. He can decide when and how he wants to talk and share. Which is exactly why he doesn’t want to bond. He doesn’t want anyone, not even Louis to be allowed to call the shots, to be able to tell him what to do, how to act and be.

~

On the ride from the airport to the hotel, Zayn pitches a fit. He pushes his way around Liam and slides himself into the seat beside Harry, knocking their elbows together forcefully.

When Harry gives him a confused frown, he starts in on him, voice low, almost a hiss. He apparently does not think it’s a good idea for Harry and Louis to share a room. He believes it’s such a bad idea in fact, that before long he’s shouting, even though no one, not even Harry, is really engaging him.

It’s out of character and Harry thinks it might be due to residual stress from flying, but it makes the long ride longer and more tiring.

Harry’s _so_ tired. And he hates the idea of moving from this little hellhole to his and Louis’ room where they’ll need to really talk and sort things out.

After a while Zayn must realize that he’s getting nowhere and he quiets, at least until they reach the hotel. Harry thinks he’s let it go, but then, when Harry’s fumbling with his luggage, Zayn reaches out and pulls the room keys from between Harry’s teeth.

“I’m rooming with Louis,” he announces.

Harry swallows. The way he says it doesn’t invite argument and Harry feels a wave of helplessness wash over him. He’d only just gotten Louis to agree to talk.

The band needs this. He needs this.

Louis appears beside him. He’d been in the bathroom and missed the previous exchange. Harry realizes that Louis is standing very, _very_ close.  He can feel his breath on his neck.

Zayn looks between them and shakes his head once, meaningfully.

“What’s going on?” Louis asks. “Which room are we in, Haz? Are we on-”

“You’re sharing with me, now,” Zayn cuts in, moving to hand his own assigned room key to Harry. Harry looks at the card and then into Zayn’s eyes.

“No,” he says. “No.”

The lift dings and the doors open. Liam says, “Are you guys coming?” He sounds very put upon.

Harry thinks Liam’s with Niall. They both want things to settle between Harry and Louis. Meaning they should bond, Harry should magically turn into the perfect omega, and they should have lots of darling, handsome babies.

The thought sidetracks Harry a bit: he and Louis would have handsome babies.

“Well?” Louis asks again, one foot in the lift, one foot out.

Harry nods and reaches for his bag, only to find that Niall’s already grabbed it. “Hey,” he begins. “I can get my own bag.”

Niall’s brows draw together and he looks over Harry’s shoulder at Louis. “Since you’re staying with Louis, maybe he should get it.”

“Fuck, Niall, Harry can carry his own fucking bags. He’s not a grandma. I’m tired and I want to take a nap before we go out tonight. Let’s _go_.”

Harry tugs his bag out of Niall’s grasp. Niall lets the bag slip through his fingers easily, but he’s shaking his head in Louis’ direction and muttering, not quite under his breath, “You are _shit_ at courting.”

The phrase and the bitterness behind it surprises Harry. For all that Harry’s disappointing the others by refusing to bond, he sees in Niall now that Louis’ disappointing them as well, by not properly wooing Harry.

Harry hadn’t realized that before, hasn’t thought long or hard about whether or not Louis was wooing him at all. He’s read the lists of typical courting behaviors- the books on bonding for alphas were full of them- but he hasn’t spent much time putting his and Louis relationship in that context.

He steps into the lift, but keeps his eyes on his feet. His mind is buzzing. Like, the sex stuff is one thing- clearly indicative of Louis’ interest. But he hasn’t really bought Harry any gifts, aside from that dumb monkey keychain and he’s never written Harry any sappy love poetry, not that Harry knows of, at least.

They split the house chores and sometimes it falls along traditional alpha-omega lines, but Harry brings in income and pays the bills. He grocery shops and makes sure the door is locked every night. Louis doesn’t cook, but he makes sure they’re fed a couple nights a week, bringing home take out or slipping something frozen in the oven. Louis keeps the toilet clean, too, or, at least, he’s supposed to.

The lift pings when it reaches their floor and Harry follows Louis out.

Louis hasn’t tried to keep him away from other alphas and while he’s marked Harry up pretty good, he’s never asked Harry to wear his clothes or jewelry. (Though Harry does, rather often.)

Harry watches Louis slip the keycard into the lock, caught by the sight of his sweater slipping down past his wrist to his elbow and revealing the shiny brown hairs on the top of his arm.

Maybe he isn’t interested in bonding with Harry, at all. Maybe he was just saying those things because he was caught up in the hormonal tidal wave of Harry’s heat.

Harry drops his bag and wrestles off his backpack, while Louis disappears into the bathroom. The toilet flushes and Harry lays back on the single king bed that takes up most of the room.

Closing his eyes, Harry listens to the click of the bathroom door opening and the padding of Louis’ feet on the carpet, then the hiss of a suitcase zipper and Louis’ irritated huffs as he digs through it.  

A few moments later, Louis settles beside him on the mattress, pressing their shoulders together. His scent washes over Harry, engulfing him more thoroughly than it has in weeks and Harry lets himself self sink into it until it’s all he’s breathing.

“This is really confusing,” Louis whispers and Harry thinks he knows he’s speaking for both of them. He must know.

Still, just to be sure, Harry hums his assent.

Because in the quiet of the hotel room, with Louis’ warmth seeping into his body and Louis’ scent filling every crevice of his consciousness, the carefully constructed dam has broken inside Harry’s mind and a long and overwhelming stream of questions rushes forth, questions about what’ve they’ve done and questions about what they can do now, questions about what he- _Harry-_ wants and, most pointed and most painful, questions about Louis.

Harry rolls onto his side, so he’s leaning over Louis, taking in the crease between his brows and the tight pull of his lips.  

“Do you want to bond with me?”

The lines on Louis’ forehead deepen and Harry wants to grab the words and shove them back inside himself.

“Like,” Harry starts to take it back, but Louis shakes his head. His lips are turning up, but his eyes still look worried.

“Harry,” Louis says, he’s fully smiling now, but it’s a sad smile. “That’s only what I’ve been getting at for _months_ now.”

His tone is light, almost mocking, and Harry sits up and fixes his gaze on the wall beside him.

“Obviously, I’d like that,” Louis continues.

 _Obviously_. Like Harry should have guessed, like he should have already known.

“It wasn’t obvious.” Harry smooths out the wrinkles in the comforter. “You never asked.”

Louis huffs. “Harry.” His voice is raising. “You keep saying you don’t want to bond. I was hoping you’d change your mind and that you’d say something about it.”

Harry bites his lip. He’s never said anything because he’s never wanted to bond and also, like, “The alpha is supposed to be the one who-”

“Fuck that, Harry. I wasn’t going to ask when you’d made it perfectly clear that you had no interest in anything long term, not with me.”

Harry whirls around to look at Louis. “Not with anyone. I’ve always said I never want to bond with anyone. I’ve made that so clear.”

Louis holds Harry’s gaze and Harry thinks _his eyes are so blue_ _and so clear and-_ “Harry, I know that’s what you said. But if you met the right alpha, I know you’d feel differently. That’s how it works. When you meet _that_ person, you’d do anything for them.”

Harry looks down. He thinks he probably would do anything- _everything_ \- for Louis. Maybe even bond. Maybe.

“How do you know, anyway? You can’t have ever felt like that.”

Louis chokes out a laugh but to Harry it feels like he’s started to cry. Harry tries to meet his gaze, force him to explain with a pointed stare, but his eyes are closed, so Harry prods, “Come on. What’s so funny.”

“My _god,_ Harry. I may have never explicitly asked you to bond, but like, I’ve been open about my feelings for you, what I’d do to keep you.” His voice is soft, breaking a little every couple of words.

Harry finds his hand creeping across the covers to wrap around Louis’ forearm.  

Louis’ eyes flutter open and an answering swarm of butterflies beat their wings in the pit of Harry’s stomach.

“Do you, I mean,” Louis begins and then stops. He sits up and turns his whole body toward Harry. Taking Harry’s hands in his own, he says, “Harry.”  

Harry’s heart hammers in his chest. This is it. Louis’ going to _ask_. And Harry’s going to- he’s going to-

“Harry, why don’t you want to bond?”

The question catches Harry off guard. He’d been expecting Louis to- he cuts off that line of thought. It’s counterproductive- pointless to hope- because Louis’ right in his assumption. Harry _doesn’t_ want to bond.

“I want a career in music. I like my life how it is!” Even though it’s as true now as the first time he thought it, Harry knows he doesn’t sound convincing.

Something about his relationship with Louis is confusing him. Like, he kind of wants both- to bond and, also _,_ to keep his life exactly how it is.

Louis nods. “What would change, do you think, if we bonded?”

Harry licks his lips and he watches Louis track the motion. The heat behind his gaze is distracting and Harry stumbles to find the right words. “I mean, like, I’d have to take care of you and do, um, stuff, like stay home and be pregnant and you probably wouldn’t want me on stage…”

As he speaks, Louis brows climb higher and higher until Harry’s worried that if he continues, they might get lost in Louis’ hairline forever. So he trails off.

Louis shakes his head, but doesn’t speak.

“What?” Harry asks.

“Well,” Louis begins, a smile sliding onto his face. He squeezes Harry’s fingers in his own. “Well. You already take care of me. And…”

Louis takes a deep breath. He looks happy and the butterflies in Harry’s belly are out in full force again. “Yeah?”

“I guess, like, I’d much rather you be _with me_ out of the house and on the stage and, like, _everywhere_ than sitting at home without me. Mostly, though, I want to take care of you, too. I want you to be happy. And I’ve never seen you happier than when you are on stage.” He blinks at Harry, looking shy, _feeling_ shy, Harry realizes as he absorbs the little pinpricks of nervousness shooting out of Louis.

Harry leans in to kiss him. He wants to think through what Louis’ said, to process the implications of it- to talk through what it could mean for them, but the tug inside of him, his instinct to take care of Louis and his feelings is overwhelming.

The moment their lips touch, Louis’ nervousness dissipates and Harry’s shot through instead with a spine-tingling excitement.

It’s a short, soft kiss. Louis doesn’t let it linger, pulling back, but not away. His hands grip Harry’s shoulders.

“You feel the same way about me, don’t you? You want to be together, like always, yeah?”

Harry nods and a lock of hair falls into his face. “But I don’t want you to expect me to-”

Louis cuts him off with another quick kiss and Harry experiences another thrill zing through him. Lips still close enough to brush Harry’s, Louis says, “I only expect you to be yourself. I know you don’t want, like, the usual bond. I know that. I don’t either. I like it when you tell me what you want. And tell me what you need. And stuff.”

Harry nods and their noses bump.

They sit there for a minute, breath mingling, eyes locked and wait. Harry doesn’t know what should happen next, now that it’s out there, now that they’ve talked about bonding.

The mark on his neck throbs, and it surprises him. It’s healed up rather nicely over the last week or so.

Harry thinks his body might know better than his mind about them, about what’s happening between them, about what he and Louis are becoming

Louis’ smiles grows wider and he pushes Harry back against the mattress, settling on top of him. Harry’s consciousness zeroes in the hot length of Louis’ cock, pressing against his thigh. He lifts his hips and smirks.

Louis whimpers and his eyelids shutter briefly, but his grin remains firm and bright.

Louis wants him. _Louis wants him_.

Like, he’s known that from the beginning, from the moment he first touched Louis’ cock in the closet on the X factor. Louis’ always been so easy for him.

But this is different.

Louis wants _him_ , Harry, not only for his cock and not only for his slick arse. He wants Harry exactly as he is.

And that’s--

Harry leans up to kiss him. Louis’ lips are wet and they slide against Harry’s before opening up for Harry’s eager tongue.

One of Louis’ hands moves up Harry’s shoulders and twists in his hair while the other slips up and under his shirt, grazing over his belly, his ribs, his nipple. Harry whines into his mouth at the touch; he can feel himself beginning to get wet.

Of course, that’s when the knocking begins.

Harry blinks his eyes open, taking in Louis’ wet, open mouth and wild gaze.

“Oi! Smells like sex!” Niall shouts through the door.

“Really?” Liam asks, more quietly, but still loud enough that Louis winces. “Harry, have you guys got it sort-”

Zayn cuts in. “Hey, if I had to get out of bed for dinner, so do you. Get up and get ready, fuckers.”

“Fuck off,” Louis shouts back at him, rolling over onto his back.

He’s far enough away that they’re no longer touching and Harry hates Zayn a little bit.

~

Harry can’t hold onto his disappointment for too long because Louis doesn’t leave his side the entire evening.

He links their fingers together as they leave the room, his palm warm and dry against Harry’s, and doesn’t let go until they reach the private dining room, and then, he only does so to pull out Harry’s chair.

Harry could have pulled out his own chair and he sort of wants to say so, but the thought is quelled by the sweet little smile that Louis offers him when he gestures for Harry to sit.

It’s not, like, _perfect_ , but he does mean well, Harry supposes.

When their handler comes in, someone different from the last time they’d been in LA, he politely suggests that Harry and Louis’ hands, which are resting one atop the other on the table, might be distracting.

Louis glares at him but lets go and links his ankle with Harry’s below the table.

Nonetheless, they are distracted, all five of them, by Harry and Louis’ closeness. The other boys keep sending them curious looks and Harry can’t blame them. He and Louis had been broken up, the last they knew, with irreconcilable differences.

When their handler is finally finished going through their schedule for the next few days and begging them to please, _please_ not go out to the clubs this time, he stands up and heads for the door, looking over his shoulder at them and raising his brow.

None of the boys get up to follow.

Niall lifts up his (second) bowl of ice cream. “Still eating,” he explains.

Liam lifts his (empty) plate and agrees, “Me, too.”

The guy frowns, but leaves the room, shutting the door behind him with a bang.

Liam starts right in. “What’s happened? Did you guys sort things out?”

Louis drops a hand to Harry’s thigh and squeezes. The sensation shoots up to Harry’s crotch and he feels himself begin to harden. He bites his lip and looks down.

Beside him, Louis laughs. “Yeah, we did.”

“Really? What does that mean, then?” Zayn’s voice is light, somewhere between amused and disbelieving. Harry knows he doesn’t trust Louis and Harry to handle things on their own.

Louis’ hand moves up higher on Harry’s thigh and his breath catches. They need to get out of here before he embarrasses himself by leaking all over the seat of his pants.

Harry clears his throat and it’s _loud_ , louder than he anticipated at least. Four sets of eyes land on him.

“Um,” he says, he sinks lower in his chair. It’s a poor choice because it sends Louis hand skittering even higher up. Still, he manages, to push out the words, “We, like, want to be together.”

This is not very clear. Harry realizes that, but Louis’ hand is now covering his cock and he can’t really be bothered with clarity. What’s important right now is that he and Louis are fucking again.

Soon.

They’re going to fuck again soon.

Zayn has other ideas, apparently, because he asks. “So are you going to bond?”

Liam tugs his chair closer to the table and tries to meet Harry’s eyes. “That’d be sick, guys. I think you’re perfect for each other. I’ve always said.”

Niall finishes his ice cream and sets his spoon down, stainless steel clattering against the glass of the bowl. “You were heading down this dark path from the very beginning. Doomed from the start.”

His words don’t match his cheery tone. Harry looks at Zayn, hoping to find him as cheered as the other two.

His lips are turned down, doubtful, but still curious.

Neither Harry nor Louis have answered his question.

“Like,” Harry begins again. Louis squeezes his dick and Harry coughs.

Zayn raises an eyebrow and prompts, “Yes?”

“Yeah, all very good news.” Louis’ tone is shrill and the words sound forced. Harry swallows and shifts his hips, subtly adjusting Louis’ grip on him. “We actually need to go call our mums about it.”

Niall nods, as if this is a very sensible thing to say.

“Right now?” Zayn asks.

Louis stands suddenly and looks down at Harry. “Yes, right now.”

Harry rises, jarring the table and rattling all the silverware. “Yeah, my mum would be gutted if she knew that, like, I’d kept this from her for a minute.” He hopes none of them are paying attention to the way his cock is tenting his trousers. (Except Louis. Louis can pay attention to Harry’s cock whenever he wants.)

As they make their way to the door, Zayn calls out, “You know it’s 3am back home, right?”

Harry didn’t know and, frankly, he doesn’t care.

~

Louis shoves Harry against the wall of the lift and looks into his eyes for a long moment before leaning down and kissing him. The rail digs into Harry’s back, but the sensation is mild, unimportant, compared to the hot press of Louis against his front.

It’s a quick ride, the lift zipping up to their floor before Harry has a chance to become properly invested in the kiss. His hands are still making their way to Louis’ arse when the chime sounds and they’ve arrived.

Louis guides Harry to their room from behind, hands on his hips and murmuring softly into his ear. “I want you so bad, Haz. I’ve missed you, missed being with you and in you. Missed your scent and your laugh. _Fuck._ I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe you want me.”

Harry’s overwrought, mind fuzzy as he fumbles with his roomkey.

Harry expects Louis to jump him as soon as they’re inside, but he doesn’t. Instead, he steps back and leans against the door, watching as Harry undoes his belt and takes off his jeans.

The material gets caught around his calf and he has to pull and tug and kicks. Once he’s freed himself, he looks up at Louis who’s still standing, watching carefully, still fully clothed at the door.  

His mouth is slightly open and his eyes are soft and wide.

“What?” Harry asks, feeling himself flush a little under Louis’ intense scrutiny.

“You’re incredible,” Louis says. “And, well, I mean it. I can’t believe we’re doing this. That you want to do this. For so long you said that you-”

Harry strides across the room to stand in front of Louis and Louis stops talking abruptly. Which is good, because Harry doesn’t want to think about all reasons he’s said ‘no’ to Louis before and he doesn’t want to think about why- even though they’re not about to bond, not without his heat- this moment, this _sex,_ feels so _important._

He moves in close so that he’s not looking in Louis’ eyes so much as he’s whispering into his mouth. “I want you, Lou, like, forever. You make me happy and I, like, think we can make this work, for both of us.”  

Louis nods and the movement brings their lips together in a kiss.

Something changes between them, then, or, maybe, Harry thinks, it’s been changing for a long time. The way they are with one another is different than it was only months before, but not in the ways Harry had imagined, had _feared_. Louis doesn’t shove him to his knees, nor call him ‘pet.’

They make love slowly, _quietly_. Louis doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t cover Harry in affection, doesn’t check-in with Harry along the way, doesn’t even smother him with praise and cosy lovewords, afterwards, as he wipes him clean.

And yet, the space between them, feels to Harry, so loud, loaded with unspoken words. Hanging in the air are all the ways they’ve hurt each other and all the ways they’ve tried fruitlessly to fix it, all their hopes for what comes next and all their new, ripened expectations for one another.

All those words could make it difficult to breathe, to relax, to see one another. But that’s not how it is for Harry. Instead, having them right there, out in the open, makes the moment clearer. He knows what Louis intends and he feels himself meeting Louis halfway.

~

Harry wakes up in the middle of the night, muscles sore and bladder aching.  He stumbles into the bathroom, bumping his shoulder into the door and knocking something- Louis’ aftershave maybe- off the counter and into the rubbish bin.

Sleep is still heavy over him and he whines to himself as he flips on the light and digs it out. It’s air freshener, not aftershave, the pine-scented bottle Harry had bought Louis for their flat back in London.

His heart trips at the thought of Louis packing it, wanting to spray a little bit of it in his hotel room and maybe even Zayn’s flat to remember Harry and _home._

Harry rinses his hands and crawls back under the covers, pressing his shoulder up against Louis’.

Earlier, when Louis was inside him, they didn’t say _the_ words. He supposes they’ll save that for when he’s in heat, for when they _bond_.

Because, yeah, Louis’ still hasn’t asked him, not like, _actually_ asked him, but he knows that they will, that they both want it. 

They’re connected now, to their cores, he’s certain of it.  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say 'hello' on [tumblr](http://juliusschmidt.tumblr.com).

**Author's Note:**

> here's my [tumblr](http://juliusschmidt.tumblr.com).


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